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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496890">All That Matters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_3/pseuds/Shi_3'>Shi_3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:01:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_3/pseuds/Shi_3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The law says that deactivating androids is murder now. At the end of the day, Captain Allen is not sure if he agrees or not. He's got a feeling though, after seeing someone take machines that look like children and rip them apart, that maybe it's not the machines that are the heartless ones.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All That Matters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He shouldn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really should go to bed. One never really knew what tomorrow would bring, but in his experience it would be something exhausting. </span>
</p><p><span>He was already</span> <span>exhausted. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He knew he wouldn’t sleep though. Even if he closed his laptop and went to lie in his bed he wouldn’t really rest. Not with these thoughts, these </span><em><span>feelings</span></em><span> churning around inside him.</span></p><p>
  <span>He blinked and focused back on his laptop screen. Really, he didn’t understand all this technical jargon. All these numbers, these strings of code, these leaps between mechanics and biological abstractions. How to make a machine act like a kid; he wasn’t really keeping up with the details, but it seemed complicated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t matter to him. He shouldn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was picking up a thing or two. Enough to keep him reading, to keep him thinking. Maybe it was enough to remind him that it wasn’t real. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t really real. Just a piece of plastic trying to imitate something it could never be. Trying to be a kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid had even said it himself. Standing in broken crayons and shredded paper, toys thrown in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I am not a child</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at these manuals and all these scientific papers, he would have to agree. It was all just...numbers crunching and computing. All in the effort to sell people pricey lies, letting people avoid reality. Letting them think that kids could be easy. Be perfect. Whatever they wanted them to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed again and rested his head heavily in his hands. He really was tired. Every time he closed his eyes the memories intruded though. Today was never going to end. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s not real. Look, it doesn’t even have a heart.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers clenched and he focused on the pull on his head, the slight pain in his scalp. Trying not to think of those machines screaming. Connor. Those kids. All of them screaming and that maniac laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How can it be dead? It was never alive.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That kid crying back at the station. Like it really did have a broken heart. Screaming like that girl didn’t, like it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>pump being ripped out and crushed, when Connor told him she was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not a murderer.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed so confident, standing in a pool of thirium and broken machinery.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You let her die.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He understood the anger in that kid’s eyes. There’s a particular kind of rage that comes from knowing you failed someone, despite your best efforts. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They’re not real.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The law disagreed now. He wasn’t sure who was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sure felt real though, when that kid looked at him. When he broke things and screamed. When he cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t seem real when neatly laid out on paper. They said it wasn’t. The engineers and authors. The authorities on machines, they said it for so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t be keeping him up. That kid shouldn’t be haunting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I hate you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid seemed like he really meant it. A look like that should never be on a kid’s face. Not even a fake’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really shouldn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>real.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Captain Allen. I was relieved when I heard they were sending you to help with this mission.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He always had felt like he and Connor would meet again, after that hostage situation. It had been nice to see his gut was still right. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know you feel the same way I do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor had never looked like that before. He’d always had an intensity to him, but it was different now. He was different. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Saving those kids is all that matters.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking back, he had to wonder. When had the heartless machine, who blindly fulfilled missions, learned to care? When had he switched places with it? </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not sure if this stands well enough as a one shot, or if this should be more of an intro or prologue. Let me know what you think?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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